The Cherished
by Spontaniously Insane
Summary: Post AWE, Norrington is back from the dead, and there's a lass in need of rescue! Beckington, Gillettington, and OCNorrington.
1. Rescue

A Little Karrington, Maybe?

Karrington - Kat Sparrow and Norrington Fluff. Because it's fun to think of. Hush.

A little drabble thing that I'm not putting on because it's OC/Norrie and Kat would come off looking like a Mary-Sue. Which, she kinda has those with her breakfast and that would be really insulting. DX

I did this mostly to try my hand at a hurt/comfort fic, try at fluff, and also experiment at writing in Norrington's POV. Because his mind is really, really fun to write. I need a thesaurus, though.

(And let me explain one thing: Kat brought Norrington, Gillette and Becket back to life, mostly because one of her crew was holding her at knife point. So, this is Post AWE, after the resurrecting of Norrington, but he has yet to be recommissioned completely.)

The Cherished

Chapter 1: Rescue  
Norrington's POV  
2100 Hours, Port Royal

I cannot remember what brought me to that place, nor what thought prompted such actions at such a late hour. All I remember is the scream that echoed through the deserted streets and woke me from my fitful sleep. I do not think I pondered on the subject long, since such deep thinking at such an hour leaves one with nothing solved and a headache gained. It felt like eternity had passed once and again before I stumbled out of my temporary sleeping quarters, dressed in nothing more than my trousers and a simple under-shirt. I felt terribly vulnerable, underdressed as I was, and I admit to having second thoughts on taking leave in nothing but my skivvies.

Another scream split through the ever growing darkness, and I found myself drawn to a rarely used street, and then to a sea-side building I could have sworn was not there that morning. It was ramshackled and as old as some of the people who frequented the streets of Port Royal, and if I had sneezed on it in the wrong spot, it would have fallen down upon itself. I approached the door with extreme caution, as the door was slightly ajar and I was unarmed against whatever may have lurked just past the threshold.

I do believe I could have put more forethought into my impromptu venture, most certainly my dress, or lack thereof. I do remember thinking of the simple pen knife that I had carefully positioned in my left boot on the inward side, one which would have been better suited in my hand at the moment than in my old boot. I peered into the crack between the door and frame, and upon locating a sword upon the far wall, my thoughts on my lack of pen knife were discarded in favor of thoughts on how in hell I was supposed to get that bloody sword.

I backed off from the door, placing one palm flat on it to see how much force would be needed to knock it down. I was feeling more confident about my venture now that the proposition of being well armed was just barely out of reach. To my utter surprise, just the slightest pressure of my palm sent the door to the floor with an echoing clatter, and the wood shattered upon the stone. I raised my arms to my face in reaction to the wood fragments that were hurled in all directions. After a moment the dust settled onto the stone, and I looked up from my guarded position. The room inside was dark save the glint of steel on the wall.

I felt my old fears rise in my chest and grip at my heart with cold, dead fingers. My breath quickened and my muscles tensed under my skin. I was painfully aware of the cold, breathless air that was seeping out of the room and beginning to coax my fears into the light.

"On your guard… Be ready for anything…" I said to myself, willing my courage forward with me as I carefully made my way across the room. It stunk of old cloth, of rum, sweat and rotting, wet wood, like the bilges of an old ship that has spent too long at sea, which prompted me forward faster than I would normally have dared. I grasped at the sword's hilt on the wall, and it fell off in an instant, the weight surprisingly light in my hands. My eyes ghosted over the steal and gold filigree and I felt a rush of warmth in me, despite the cold stone walls and the chilling air.

She was mine; my old sword had found her way back to her master and as fate would have it, just at the 'opportune moment', as Sparrow would say. I felt the smile grow until I felt that it would break my face in half, and then turn into a heroic smirk of triumph. With my sword ahead of me, the shining hope acting like a beacon of light to guide me, I found the stairs, and as I began to climb, my heart began to sink.

The stairs were wooden, and had seen so much wet weather than they had begun to mold and rot. I felt my way past holes and missing steps, praying for all I was worth that the stairs would end soon. After another eternity had passed once and again, I found the door to the upper floors, and knocked it down with a single kick.

There was only one other door on the upper floors, and I ran to it with all the energy I had left. It was already open, and the room inside was dark. I strained to find a shape within the darkness, something that may have produced a scream. There was a clump of rags in one corner, a window with a cover, and a box. I strode over to the window and removed the cover, so the light from outside could aide in my search.

I looked over and felt my breathe catch in my throat. What I thought was a rag was actually a young captive. The poor thing was as thin as the dead, with only a rag for cover and matted, chocolate brown hair. For a moment, I thought it could be Sparrow, but the shape was too feminine to be the pirate I was currently searching to capture. I pressed my hand to the neck of the body, finding a slow pulse. My fingers came back covered with blood such a dark red color that it looked like the darkness in the room.

I knelt by the figure, laying my sword on the floor, and carefully turned her over. I still could not identify the girl, for the face was covered in dark red blood. The manner of the shirt and pants the girl wore as her only cover made me think she was once a proud pirate. The shirt looked to be hemmed in several places, like it was once too large to fit properly, and the girl in question cared enough about how she looked that she fixed it as best she could. Also, the tanned wear of her skin pointed towards a life spent primarily at sea, and the soles of her feet hinted at a normal lack of boots.

I guessed as well as I could at her age, being around the early twenties, which was much older than I took for her at first glance. She was too thin to have been brought to this place recently, and I estimated her arrival about a week or so ago. Just around the time I arrived back in port myself, actually.

Suddenly, I had to know who this mysterious pirate actually was. I felt a stone of dread sink into the lower pit of my stomach, which I ignored with all the power of my being. After locating the cleanest rag I could find, I used the end wipe at the blood on her face. After only part of the blood and grime was removed, I began to recognize the face, and my heart seemed to stop.

She… she was the pirate who risked her life to save me from the inevitable circumstance of death. She did not belong in the place, pirate or not. No one should harm a woman as this one had been. I felt courage rise through me again, accompanied with anger and hate. What man on earth would dare to do such a thing to a woman?

I froze when the sharp tip of a blade pierced my shirt and pressed lightly between my shoulder blades. I gripped at the hilt of my rapier, preparing to fight, when a voice, thick and sweet as honey, echoed from behind me.

"James, what pleasure it is that you are here. You must forgive me for not... cleaning up, but you gave me no warning to your arrival." The silky smooth voice held a mocking tone, and whatever feelings I ever had for the man were pressed into the back of my mind.

"Becket, would you care to explain why the girl who saved you from certain death is lying beaten at my feet?" I asked, my anger evident in the tone of my voice. Becket chuckled to himself, a harsh, grating chuckle that ate at one's sanity. Once, I would have deemed that little chuckle endearing, but his deeds of the night turned my mind red with rage.

"Norrington, do not question my actions. I do what I do for reasons that you would not understand. Please do not take it too harshly, James, but your mind is still too young and innocent to understand my ways of thinking." He spoke like he was talking to a child, someone with a small mind and an ill sense of understanding.

I spun around, Beckett's sword slicing a deep line in my back. I stood hunched over slightly, my sword crossed with his. My blood was not the only blood on his sword.

"I understand perfectly, m' lord. You are just a pirate hating, cynical, plotting madman with no sense of priority or honor. I feel as though I can no longer respect you, since you have deliberately injured a lady, be she a pirate or not. Now, if you'll excuse my rudeness, I have more important matters to attend to." I spat on his boot as an afterthought, before returning to the pirate's side. The adrenaline pumping through my system withheld any pain I might have been feeling.

I tensed as steal slid past my neck, pushing my head back to avoid being cut. I felt his hot breath in my ear and I grimaced at the tang of blood that was beginning to envelope me.

"Now, now. I think we have other things to attend to first, don't you agree, Admiral?" His voice had lost the honey in it, and I fidgeted in his grasp. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Best not to resist, James. It will be over sooner if you just relax." I felt his cold hand press into my back, his nails digging sharply into my shirt and flesh. I gritted my teeth and forced my elbow back sharply, coming into contact with his chest. He stepped back, pulling his sword with him and barely scraping my neck. I turned, facing him, sword in hand. He was choking on the impact of my elbow, down on his knees.

I lowered my sword so it was level with his neck, letting the steel hover a hair's breathe from his skin. I felt a pang of guilt well up in my chest and I forced it back; this was no time to feel sorry for that awful man.

"By your leave, M' Lord." I spat, sheathing my sword. He did not move, and after a moment of watching him, I turned around once more. The pirate was bleeding badly and needed medical attention. I knelt by her, and with a whispered word of apology to her, I scooped her broken body into my arms. She let out a cry of pain, but that was it. Her body went limp in my arms, her head drooping to rest against my chest. I felt her heart beat deep in her bosom, the rhythm slow but stable.

It did not take long to carry the pirate girl back to my sleeping quarters. I charged Gillette with caring for her injuries while I took a stroll on the beach. I needed to calm my nerves and the roll of the open ocean was my one escape from the world I lived in. I watched the salt water lap at the boat hulls and the docks silently, letting the whisper of wind on water put my mind at rest.

This was a much needed break.


	2. Breeze

This has officially become a multi-chapter fic. I'm happy. This plot bunny is fun. XD As always, slight implied Beckington and Gilletington and Karrington flirting, and maybe some Sparrington as well. Better yet, Speckington! Spelleckington (Becket/Sparrow/Gillette/Norrington)? It sounds like spelunking...

The Cherished

Chapter 2: Breeze  
Norrington's POV  
0600 Hours, Port Royal

It was morning before I decided to retire to my room. My break had lasted me until the first fleeting rays of light shone on the dark water, and by then I felt as though I could sleep the day away. My manner of my return perceived no more care for my clothing then for my person. My cloths found themselves in a wad in a corner, and I was in desperate need of a shave. Old habits were coming back in my lack of caring for my image, but my lack of sleep took precedence over much else.

I was not very happy to find that Gillette had given the pirate _my_ bed as a home for the night and I had to vacate to sleeping in a chair. Or, at least, put on some semblance of sleep whenever the ever watchful Gillette came in to check on the patient. I must have been fairly convincing, because when Gillette first checked on me after the dawn broke, he left to scrounge up a blanket for me and laid it around my shoulders with a tender, embarrassed kiss on the forehead. I felt my face light up light a warning beacon. Thankfully, Gillette didn't notice.

The pirate, however, was another matter. She was conscious by the time I had arrived in the room, and from the ungodly smirk upon her still mangled features I knew she knew that I knew that Gillette knew something I hoped no one would ever know. Just thinking about it makes my brain ache, even now. I wonder how Sparrow ever gets by on that overly complicated process of thinking.

After an hour or so of thinking of nothing in particular, my mind wandered back over to the pirate still asleep in my bed. I had never truly learned her name, even after she saved me and my comrades from certain damnation to Davy Jones's Locker. Or, more recently, Will Turner's Locker. I still could not believe that Sparrow had sacrificed his one chance at immortality for Ms. Swann... I mean, Mrs. Turner. That name was going to give me trouble in getting used to, since only a few years ago did I expect her to be Mrs. Norrington. She was a fine lady, with everything a man of my noble talents would love to have as his wife, and she was snatched up by a black-smith cum pirate cum traitor cum Immortal Captain.

Dawn's rays shone brightly through the window and blinded me, robbing me of my train of thought. I then decided that sleep was no longer an option and began my normal morning routine. I dressed properly in my new naval attire, shaved, and then tied my hair back – my new wig had yet to be presented to me. Then, after all was said and done, I inspected myself in the washroom mirror, looking for minor flaws caused by my late night. I was delighted that lacking sleep left me with nothing more than an angry disposition.

I then went back to my chair, still having a while before my normal morning meeting. I sat and brooded over what Beckett's mood would be like this morning, as it would affect the rest of not only his day, but my day and Gillette's day as well. I had a feeling that his mood would be bad for my health as well as my day, and I hoped that he would have the sense to not take his angers out on Gillette as well, for the man had done nothing to deserve them.

A quiet rapping on my chamber door shook me from my reverie. I stood, brushed off my front, and went to answer the call who I assumed was Gillette hoping to accompany me to the morning meeting. Instead, my heart turned to a stone and dropped down to the pit of my stomach at the angry face at my door.

Beckett did not ask to come in; he merely brushed past me, a very indignant and hurt looking Gillette in tow. I felt my own anger flare, not only at the sight of the man I had come to hate in the past few hours, but also at how he was treating my subordinate.

"Gillette has informed me that you have been harboring a pirate over night in your chambers." He said, turning to face me, a sadistic smile playing at his lips. Gillette wouldn't look at me; he knew he shouldn't have told Beckett, and he knew how irate it would make me under normal circumstances. But these were not normal circumstances. I could see stripes of red flesh under the collar of Gillette's shirt, and upon realizing the methods that Beckett chose to extract information from my colleague, I felt my anger flare once more.

"Beckett, I beseech you, please leave Gillette out of this. He did nothing to deserve the punishment I know you will so willingly deal out in a timely fashion." I said, pushing back my anger in favor of the submissive gesture of hanging my head. I did so only to save Gillette from a fate worse than the interrogation he had already suffered through, but it did not fool Beckett's ever calculating mind.

"James, do not lie to me. I have already been informed from... reliable sources that you charged Gillette with the task of caring for the pirate while you went walking on the beach. Lie to me again, _Commodore_, and you both will face the same punishment I expect most traitors and pirates to face; the Hangman's noose." He spat my title mockingly, and that small sadistic smirk played at his lips once again. He truly meant to hang us.

"M' lord, please!" Gillette's voice was high pitched and frightened. Exactly what Beckett wanted. "We did only what we thought was right. Pirate or not, she saved our lives and we owe her this, if not more! I know that deep in your heart, you understand. Please, we have committed no crime against the crown." Gillette was crying; the prospect of death scared him so much he could not help but break into chest wracking sobs. I understood completely. To die once was hard enough on a soul, but to die again, especially by the hand of the country we all adored so dearly, was too much for one person to handle.

"M' lord, please listen to his pleas. Do not subject two innocent men to such a harsh punishment. Do not ask us to die again after only tasting the sweet honey of life for such a short time." I spoke softly, once more faking submission in the hope that he would believe our pleas and let us off with naught but a warning. I saw his smile waver slightly, his face contorting to something more along the lines of contemplative than homicidal.

"You prove a valid point, yet my charges are to arrest and hang those who are pirates, associate with pirates, or even harbor pirates. This is quite the dilemma... Do I hang my best men for crimes that might not prove to be true crimes, or do I disobey my orders and let you two go free? " He paused, clicking his tongue against his teeth in thought.

"Punishment will be given, Norrington, but not now. I must go talk with my associates about this matter. Our meeting will be canceled. I suggest you get some sleep, Commodore." Beckett's words were final, spoken moments before he crossed the threshold. He paused after finishing his sentence, thinking.

"Thank you, M' lord." I heard my own words echo in Gillette's words, his voice showing the fear I held back inside. His punishment for us would be severe, no matter what crimes we were charged with. After a moment of silence, I turned to my subordinate, unsure of what we should do at that point in time. I felt my heart jump into my throat to see him on his knees, still crying onto the floor.

"I am truly sorry, Commodore, I am! I tried to keep the secret, but you know how Beckett goes about extracting information! I had no choice – it was either tell him everything or die by his hand. I am terribly sorry, sir." He was begging at my feet, forehead pressing against the hard wood. I bent down beside him and took his shaking form into my arms.

"Gillette, I am not angry with you. Do not worry. First, let us take care of our guest, and then we may be able to have a stroll around the harbor before the first task of the day is thrust upon us." I whispered, my hand making slow strokes up and down his back. He managed a nod, and I helped him stand.

"So, tha sissy wig can stand, then, e'?" The voice startled me, and I spun around, my hand resting upon the hilt of my newly recovered sword. The pirate was sitting up in the bed, leisurely picking at the scabs around her hands. A twisted smirk graced her features, and her eyes held wisdom much past her age.

"Captain, I will not have you insult my subordinate. You are in our care currently and you will do as we say, lest you wish to be hung before the next morn." My words were graced with the normal stoic tone I used against most people – it was level and firm, with a touch of anger - just enough so the pirate would understand my point.

"All right, mista snippy britc'es, I get it. I won't do nothing wrong. From this moment I am an 'onest lady." The pirate raised her hands as a sign of defeat, though the smirk still played at her features. Her voice was slurred more than normal because of a rather nasty welt on her cheek. "So, Norrie. Urm...T'anks fer savin' me an' all." She would not look at me, her eyes straying to stare at frayed edges of the bed sheets. Her cheeks, once pale as a dead man, turned a shade of ruby red before my eyes.

"You are quite welcome." I said softly, unsure of exactly how to address a pirate. Gillette looked the pirate over, eyes flitting from one injury to another. He took a step forward, and then hesitated, eyes straying to me, silently asking for permission to care for the girl. I smiled softly and nodded once in reassurance. He strode forward with an air of confidence I have rarely seen in him, and started checking bloody bandages and looking over minor bruises with a keen eye and steady hand. Apparently, this did not please the pirate, whose face was contorted in a look of shocked disgust.

"Captain, we never caught your name." Gillette said, a spark of innocence in his voice, as he checked over a nasty looking scar on her arm, clicking his tongue lightly at it.

"That's 'cause I never threw it. And stop checkin' that, it's old." She spat, yanking her arm away. Gillette looked rather offended, going back to a still bleeding cut with less enthusiasm. "My name is Captain Kathreen Karol Sparrow. Call me Kat, and if you ever so much as think of mentioning my middle name to anyone I'll hunt you down and gut you like a fish." She spat, her voice less slurred now that the swelling had gone down some. I chuckled lightly to myself, watching Gillette retie the bandage around her arm.

"You could not do anything in the condition you are in, Captain Sparrow." Gillette teased, earning a well deserved scowl from the not-too-happy Captain.

"Try me." She spat, shoulders tensing. I heard the subtle growl in her voice and my grip on my sword tightened. Gillette looked up at her, worry in his eyes.

"I'm warning you for your own safety. You are not healthy enough to walk, let alone hurt anyone but yourself." Gillette's voice was firm and level, much like the voice I used with most people. The pirate stopped, flabbergasted, and her eyes turned to me. I knew we were thinking the same thing just by looking at her too-deep blue eyes.

"Alright-y then, but you're wrong 'bout the walkin' thing. I can walk just fine, thanks." She shifted away from my subordinate, moving with great difficulty. She half-stood, her feet barely supporting her weight, before she fell back onto the bed again, her face contorted in a mask of pain and anger.

"Ok, maybe I lied. I am a pirate after all."


	3. Salt

You'll find out why the title is The Cherished soon enough, don't worry. Captain Kat will get nicer, once she isn't in pain. Currently, she's putting the 'irate' back in 'pirate'. Ah well, I love her anyway.

The Cherished

Chapter 3: Salt  
Norrington's POV  
1300 Hours, Port Royal

By the time the sun was high in the sky, Captain Kat could walk again. She was not the greatest, for sure, but she could get around without being supported by Gillette. I would have helped her myself but I am too tall for her to lean on. Her balance would have been thrown off.

After that, it was harder to care for her. We did not dare let her free from the chambers, keeping her confined for the town's, and our, sanity. Having a pirate running loose under the care of two newly instated navy-men would throw many of Port Royal's population for a proverbial loop. That is why the Captain had to stay confined. Let me put clearly that _our_ sanity was _not_ spared in doing so, only the town's.

The Captain had taken to pacing a rut in my floor from her confinement, every so often placing a complaint about anything she could think of. She was angry and not entertained, which proved to be the worst company I have ever kept.

Eventually, she stopped pacing, and sat down on the bed, thinking. I could see the scheme in her eyes, and it almost scared me. Gillette had just left on his lunch-break, and I was going to be stuck in the same room with a scheming pirate for over an hour. After a moment, she spoke.

"Norrie?" She pleaded, using a pet name she had devised for me earlier in the morning. I looked up, but said nothing in response. "Norrie, do you have any brandy or rum? I am quite parched." She asked, the last phrase in a mocking tone. I looked up at her, and then back down at the application I had been in the process of filling out, a stoic scowl resting upon my features.

"Is that a yes, a no, or are you still angry about the whole pet-name thing?" She asked. I looked up at her, again, scowling.

"It's a no, and yes, I am still angry about the 'pet-name thing." My voice was level, hinting at anger. She looked around for another moment, nose turned up slightly, and then shot me the most hurt look she could muster. Somehow, she knew I lied.

"You git! Don't lie to me. You have rum, I can smell it!" She spat, her voice seething with anger. I retained my level scowl and returned to my work without another word, leaving her to brood. After moment, though, I was brought from my work to hear the faint sounds of someone rummaging through my cabinets. I looked up, and sighed.

As I had guessed, she was rummaging around; looking for the rum she knew was there. I smirked at my own genius of hiding the fowl drink somewhere she would never guess – behind the headboard.

I had yet to realize I had grossly underestimated her.

"FOUND IT!" Her cry of glee echoed through the chambers and I was out of my chair before she could say another word. She was triumphantly holding a few brown bottles of the fowl liquid in one hand and drinking from a fourth bottle with the other. I felt a strange emotion well in the pit of my stomach; it was something akin to fear, almost terror. What caused that, I am still not entirely sure. It may have been the gleam of mischief in her eyes when she looked over at my tense form. Maybe it was the way she was holding the bottle by the neck in an almost threatening stance. Or maybe it was because of the rum.

I knew better than most the ill effects of rum on normally sane people. And from the fact that this pirate was not completely sane when sober, the prospect of a drunken insane pirate made me shiver involuntarily.

"What? Why you starin' like t'at?" Her voice was beginning to acquire a slur from the copious amounts of rum already in her system and the fresh rum she had been drinking. I took a step back, unsure of what steps I should take. Should I attempt to take the rum away, or should I vacate the room in fear of my own life.

My mind wandered back to my days of piracy as the tantalizing aroma of the alcohol reached me. I longed for those by-gone days when I could do nothing for hours on end and call it work. I longed to taste the salt air, to feel the wind in my hair, to feel the cool water spray up on my face and to sit under the relentless sun with a bottle of brandy and sleep.

I felt her eyes boring into my head, and I shook my head with a heavy sigh.

"Got somfin' you wanna talk 'bout, Commodore? I've got enough rum here for us both." She smiled, shoving a bottle of rum under my nose. I looked away, though my eyes glanced back at the bottle. "I know you want some, or are you chicken, eh?" She teased, pressing her face close to mind. Almost to close.

I took a step back, breaking free of her siren-like enchantment.

"Captain, I am not scared to drink rum. I subsided off the stuff alone for at least a year. I am just weighing my possibilities. Give me a moment." I half-snarled at her, mind already racing to give me a good reason why I should drink the foul stuff again. Taking a deep breath, I took a step forward, closing the gap between the two of us. My hand closed around the neck of a bottle, overlapping her hand slightly. She blushed a vivid crimson and her grip went slack, letting me raise the bottle up to the light to examine the lip. After a moment, I took a deep swig, almost cherishing the way it burned my throat. The pirate was slightly taken aback, and I used this silence as a chance to make her an offer.

"Captain, I'll make a deal with you. I do have something I wish to discuss, as well as a few questions I wish to ask. And I know you must have many questions to ask me. So we'll make this into a game. For every question I ask, you can ask one as well. But we must answer the question to the best of our ability, no matter the subject. Do we have an accord?" I said, tilting my head with a wry smile. I knew she would not agree to anything that did bnot benefit her, so I made the deal with that in mind.

She considered my offer for a second, and then her eyes met mine for a single instant. She raised her bottle to mine in a mock toast.

"Aye, we have an accord. Take what ye can, give nofin back and all that nonsense, aye?" She said, running her bottle into mine and producing a rather delightful clink. She fell back onto the bed with a pleased noise, somewhere between sighing and cooing. I joined her after throwing off my coat, leaving me, once more, in naught but my skivvies.

"Alright then, I'll go first. What does that saying mean? That 'take what you can' mess?" I asked, leaning forward slightly so I could get a better look at her face. She was staring at the ceiling, contemplating the question.

"Take what you can, give nothing back. It's sayin' that if you be needin' somfin, take it when you can and even if you take too much, don't give it back. It's talkin' 'bout greed in its most purest form." She said finally, looking back at me with her deep blue eyes. I realized, in that moment, exactly how clear they were, even with the rum. Her words were not as clear, but I understood the concept.

"Now it's my turn." She said, grinning at me with gold teeth. "You had a chance to become a full fledge pirate and you gave it up for this little patch of hell. Why?" Her eyes caught mine, and she held my gaze, as my mind searched about for an answer.

"I don't know." I finally answered. "I guess it was because I thought that having a position in the navy was what my life needed. I thought I needed a stable job with pay enough to last me. I didn't think piracy was a life worth living." I took a swig of my rum, my eyes rising to stare at the ceiling in thought.

"'You thought' is past tense, mate. Does that mean you don't think that now?" Her voice was curious, almost too much. I chuckled to myself softly, looking back over at her.

"It's my question now. Wait your turn." I said, mock scolding the pirate. "Now, my question. Why are you a pirate? You could easily get a job in the navy if you really want. You're smart, quick witted and brave enough for any venture. You would get a steady pay. Piracy is wrought with danger, destruction and death. Why would you choose such a life?" I asked, sitting up. She laid down on the bed with a heavy sigh, a smile on her face. I could almost see the weight on her shoulders, weighing her mind down with matters unknown to me.

"You wouldn't understand, Commodore. You choose the life of leisure, so you have yet to taste the sweet release of a life of piracy. Freedom of my kind is nothing like the mocking semblance of freedom you think you have. I've been as free as a bird since I was still a tot. It's hard to give up something one cherishes so dearly for something so provincial as a job and steady pay." Her eyes caught mine and a faint blush tinted her cheeks.

"Now it's my question. Exactly how much rum do you think it'll take to get you completed snockered?" She whispered her question into my ear; her hot breathe bringing color to my face. I gulped, licking my dry lips once before answering.

"Not too much more, I should suppose. I haven't had rum in so long, it's all out of my system." I said, after another moment of thinking. I opened my mouth to ask her why, but then I stopped, remembering our deal. I would have lost my next question.

"Ah, ok then. You need to drink more." She shoved another bottle into my hands, the liquid threatening to slosh right out of the container. I was surprised by the gesture, but accepted the bottle without hesitation.

"Alright then... My question: Why do you share the same last name as the notorious pirate Jack Spa--?"

"Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow." She corrected, before letting me finish.

"Right then. _Captain_ Jack Sparrow? Some unlucky coincidence, perhaps?" I finished, watching the smile spread upon her face with wary eyes.

"No coincidence, other than I'm his sister and all. Or, half sister, really. Not the same mum, don't think, 'cause Teague claims our mum was turned into a shrunken head a' fore I was born. Not too sure, though. He's a pirate, too. Hangs around with funky monkeys with stripes on them's tails. Calls 'um lemurs or somfin." She explained, her eyes trained on my face.

Suddenly, they did look like siblings. They had the same hair, though her's tended toward dark-red brown and Jack's toward the blacker end of the spectrum. They had different eyes, of course, but the same build – skinny, lithe, short in stature. It was almost obvious now that she'd told me.

"Alright, my question." She grinned, looking me over. I swayed slightly where I was, starting to feel the giddy sensation that being drunk brings. "If I gave you double the salary you get from Bucket-head, would you pose in nofin but what you was born in?" Her eyes glanced over me again, a smile playing at my face.

Her question made me choke on my rum.

"W-What?!" I gasped. I felt my face flush, and I leaned backward in shock, my back tensing slightly. Suddenly, pain washed over my back and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. The gash Beckett had inflicted upon me the other night had torn open. I had forgotten it was there, since my adrenaline had been pumping through me not only to keep me on my feet against Beckett but also to keep me awake on my feet. I felt a gentle hand tug on my shirt, pulling the fabric away from the wound and soothing the worst of the pain.

"Norrie, you've got a nasty cut on your back!" She said, clicking her tongue at me. "I know I'm not as good as Gillette when it comes to doctorin', but I can at least bandage this up. You stay right there, savvy? I'll be right back." I heard her leave, and I tried to relax. It didn't work.

After a moment, I heard her coming back, and I felt the bandage on my wound. The pain started to ease off and I found that sitting up was possible without pain. Her eyes bore concern that one of her age should not have the wisdom to acquire, almost motherly. She handed me a fresh bottle of rum, and I hesitated to take it. I did, after a moment, and I felt the giddy feeling come back after only one sip. After a few moments of nothing but drinking, I was completely snockered.

"I believe it 'twas your question, Norrie." The pirate spoke with her bottle to her lips, her clear eyes locked on my swaying form with a hint of concern. I let out a very girlish giggle, and she broke into a grin.

"What is the..." I hiccupped once, disrupting my pattern of speech. "What is the stupidest thing you've eva done while drunk?" I said with a wide, giddy grin. Her eyes met mine and her smile faded. She thought over the question for a moment, and then set her bottle down on the table. Her eyes had a ferial gleam to them.

She scooted closer to me, shoving her face so close to mine I could smell the rum on her breathe. Her lips ghosted over mine and my mind froze with something I'd want to believe was fear, but at the same time was not.

"This." Her breathe was soft on my dry lips. Then, her lips met mine in a tender, deep kiss.


	4. Names

The Cherished

Chapter 4: Name (Chapter 5: Sea)  
Norrington's POV  
0630 Hours, Port Royal

I woke up in a state of disbelief. I felt half-naked, and I was in bed... with someone. Said someone smelled of rum and tar. I looked up over the matte of brown hair, and let out a most girly shriek. I jumped back out of pure shock and fell onto the floor, letting out another cry when my back hit the wood. I stifled a groan.

I felt sick to my stomach, my head ached like nothing I'd ever experienced, and I was lacking any memory of the night before hand, save the sweet flavor of rum. I rose slowly, careful not to injure myself any more than necessary. When I stood, my vision swam violently, and I reached up to clutch at my still painful head.

Carefully, I stumbled my way into the wash-room, half-collapsing onto the countertop. The image staring back at me was not a comfort – I looked a mess. I looked haggard, tired, and had deep purple bags under my eyes. I groaned out a swear, something I would never let Beckett know that I knew, and closed my eyes tightly, letting the room stop swimming.

I felt a hand on my back, pressing so lightly it was almost not there. It started making slow, comforting strokes up and down my back; it was so wonderful to my aching head that I let out a tired moan.

"Commodore, are you alright?" Gillette's worry echoed in the enclosed space. "Beckett's scheduled the meeting sooner this morning, so you need to start getting dressed. If you feel bad, I'll tell Beckett..." He started, and I waved a hand at him dismissively.

"It's my duty to go to the meeting, Gillette. Beckett would fire us both if I didn't come. May I have some help up?" I held out my hand to my subordinate, and within moments I was on my feet. I almost collapsed again, but with Gillette's help I managed to stay standing.

By the time I had finished dressing and readying myself, we were late for the meeting. Beckett did not seem pleased by our late entrance.

"So, Commodore, you finally decided to show up. How nice of you. Take a seat, please. I have something to tell you." His voice was level, but I could see the sarcasm in his gaze. I placed myself in a seat with heavy steps, my head falling to rest on my arms. Beckett began to talk quickly about nothing I was interested in, and I felt my eyes begin to droop.

"NORRINGTON!" His cry made me jump, the sound ringing around in my head and making my headache worse. I locked onto his form with a half-hearted glare, watching him twitch with barely suppressed anger. His eyebrow and his mouth twitched upward in unison.

"Were you even _listening?_ I'd expect you to be jumping around in your seat by now if you were." His voice was laced with anger, and he was speaking through gritted teeth. I gave him a nod, waiting for him to repeat himself. "You,_ Commodore, _are getting a new ship with your new position. You are allowed to name it whatever you wish." He watched me without emotion, waiting.

It took a moment for me to put two and two together. I was getting my own ship, something to command to replace my lost _Dauntless _and _The Interceptor._

"T-Thank you, M' lord! I am proud to fly the British colors upon my mast, sir." My voice was thick with the honey lacing my words, hiding the venom beneath. His anger almost flared again, but he managed to keep it in check.

"You may go." He snarled, and I vacated my chair as fast as my aching head would let me. I pressed my back against the wall outside, knocking my head against the cold surface. Beckett's cold glare scared me, froze my heart and sent chills down my spine.

Gillette was by my side within minutes. He had worry in his eyes. "Commodore, you need to go get some rest. Go back to the room, I'll get you some tea." He stayed for a moment longer, watching me, and then departed, leaving me alone in the hall. After a second, I stood completely and began to stumble back down the hallway to my room. A grin began to split my face as I remember the joy of having the Dauntless at my command, the men ready to spring forth at the slightest order. It was so wonderful to be on the sea.

Suddenly, I had an overwhelming desire to experience that again. It was all I could do to keep from running to the shore as I was, hangover and all. I needed sleep to clear my head first, and I knew it.

I entered my chamber, oblivious to the pirate lounging in my chair, and collapsed onto the bed.

"What happened to you? You look bloody awful." She asked, leaning forward in the seat. I just let out a low moan and rolled over on my side so I wasn't facing her. She was silent, for the moment, and I was beginning to feel a little better. My headache was easing off and no longer felt the need to sleep. After a moment, I sat back up and rubbed at my tired eyes.

"You had a hangover, didn't you? Silly boy can't hold his liquor!" Her voice echoed in my head and I felt the headache coming back tenfold. I turned away from her, a scowl upon my face.

"Do... do you remember what we did last night?" I asked, turning back to her. She giggled into her hand, obviously amused by my question. "Captain, I implore you to tell me." I snapped, though I automatically regretted it upon seeing the hurt look on her face.

"No need to yell, mate. I have a hangover to, you know. Bad for the head, it is." She tapped her forehead with a single finger, her smile gone. "So, you don't remember, do you? You've truly forgotten. I... I thought I left a more lasting impression. Guess... I was wrong." She stood and walked over to the open window, placing her hands on the windowsill, arching her back like a frightened cat.

I stood and followed her, worried. I hesitated a few feet from the window, watching her body shake with unheard sobs. I placed my hand on her back in a comforting manner, bending over so that I could see her face. She spun around, knocking my hand away violently. I stepped back, hurt. She was in fact crying, but over what I did not know.

"Commodore, please. Leave me be. I need some time to get over this, alright. It's clear you hate me, since you can't remember. I guess I'm just not that important to you, am I?" She shouted, half sitting on the sill, her hands braced against the polished wood. Her chest shook once with another silent sob, her eyes turned to stare out the window at the sea.

"What am I doing?" She asked to no one in particular. I decided not to answer, just to listen. "I... I'm confused, that's it. I don't love anyone anymore... I promised Reef... damn that man. Haunting me 'till the end of time. Damn him to hell." Her face went from a hurt frown to a half-hearted smile. She turned back to me, her eyes filled with pain. Quickly she whipped her face free of tears and regained her normal grin.

"Sorry 'bout all that, Norrie. What happened last night was nothin' important. Just forget it, alright? Now, how did that bloody waste of time you call a meeting go?" She was smiling, her face still tinted red from crying. I sat down next to her, smiling as well. My headache was gone, finally.

"I'm getting a boat." I said, watching her face grow with delight. "She still needs a name, though. I was thinking of something that would symbolize my love for the sea and the fact that I returned from the dead. What do you think?" I asked, watching her, waiting for her answer. She sat and thought for several seconds, before I saw her face light up with an idea.

"I know! Name her The Cherished, you know? You cherish the sea, your life, Gillette, maybe Beckett, and you'll cherish her like she's yer baby, right? It's perfect!" She said, clearly excited. I had to admit, the name was perfect.

"You forgot one thing, Captain. I cherish you too." I said, putting my arm around her. She flushed a ruby red.

"You're just sayin' that to be nice." She muttered, turning her head away from me, smiling. I pulled her closer, smiling as well.

"You're a nice person, pirate or not. I'm happy to have you as my friend." I whispered in her ear. She flushed even redder. "And The Cherished she will be. Fter cup of tea, do you want to go see her?" I asked. She gave me a disbelieving look, her eyes wide. I guess she didn't expect to be let outside during the day, with the measures we took to keep her locked up.

"Love to, mate! I can't wait! Now where's that bloody tea?"


	5. Sea

The Cherished

Chapter 5: Sea  
Norrington's POV  
1200 Hours, Port Royal

Tea took longer to finish than I would have thought, since the Captain was being rather impatient in the first place. Her impatience spilt her cup of tea everywhere and took a while to clean up, much to her annoyance.

The sun was as high as it could be when we left my chambers for the shore. I had to keep the Captain arm in arm, lest she stray and get lost. That is, apparently, how she got into the mess in the first place. I was not going to let that happen again.

The boat docks were completely empty save a solitary vessel, a galleon of immeasurable size. It was a beautiful ship, made of light wood, varnished slightly darker, making it almost the same color as the wood of the Dauntless. The rails, the masts, and the doors were painted black, and there were black stripes on the sides. The whole vessel was decorated with gold, carved into the wood. The sails suddenly unfurled with a crack, the white so bright it almost blinded me.

Such a beautiful boat, and she was mine.

"The Cherished. She's a mighty fine vessel." The pirate ran ahead of me, pressing her hand to the wood with tender care. She had a small smile on her face. "Caulked and waxed to perfection. Even my ship wasn't made this good on tha first try. She almost sank on the first voyage." She turned to me, continuing her story. I didn't mind listening, since pirates spin such interesting tales. "Mind you, she had a god run in with them Sirens and almost ran aground on their reef. We managed to make it into Tortuga a' fore the bottom blew."

"The Sirens? They're just a myth." I said, catching up to her. She grinned at me, and laughed.

"That's just what the Navy tells ya so you won't freak out on tha ocean. Bad thing, meetin' the Sirens. They'll drive a man insane. I wish I could just go up there and strangle them." I saw the beginning of tears behind her eyes. I put a hand on her shoulder softly. She almost flinched away.

"You are so angry at them, yet, what did they do to you other than put a hole in the bottom of your boat?" I asked, curious. Her eyes danced with hidden anger and fear. She took a deep breath before answering, calming the anger welling behind her eyes.

"They... they killed three of my first crew. Drove them so insane that they just jumped overboard. Never saw the poor blokes alive again..." A single tear found its way down her face and she brushed it away angrily. "They do still haunt me. I see them every time we pass by Cuba, since that was where they met their unfortunate demise. But enough about them, let's get a bottle and give this girl a good ol' sendin' off, shall we?" Her demeanor changed suddenly, catching me off guard. Her smile was half-faked, trying to get off the subject.

"First, let's get her name on her." I said, walking around to the back. Propped up against the stern was a slab of black wood and a can of gold paint. I figured that we were the ones who were required to paint the vessel's name on the nameplate.

"Oh... I thought the name was already on 'er. Guess I was wrong." The Captain mused over the slab for a second, and then picked up the brush with an air of confidence. "Commodore," She turned around, a teasing smile playing at her face, "You go get us the best bottle of champagne or wine or rum you got, get Gillette, Beckett and any other landlubber that would like to see a proper sendin' off and I'll do you the honor of paintin' the name. Savvy?"

I stared at her for a long moment, thinking. She started nodding like I could trust her with such a meager task, and so, without further delay, I went to fetch the necessary accoutrements. Gillette was the easiest thing to find, since he was looking for me. Together we procured a bottle of the best champagne Port Royal had, and also acquired an audience. I told them to be at the docks in no less than an hour, and they all agreed to come. Beckett, on the other hand, did not wish to come. He and Mercer were adamant about staying behind and enjoying a glass of brandy before lunch. I was a might disappointed, I must admit. I would at least have expected Beckett to attend an official ceremony, but when I told him that it was the pirate's idea he claimed the ceremony to be officially unofficial and declined.

When I returned I found the Captain apparently snoozing in the sun, a bundle of clothing beside her and a hat tilted down over her eyes. She sat upon a crate, leaning against The Cherished lightly, legs crossed. She had a few more things upon her person – namely, a sash, a vest, her hat, and three small crab-claws that were affixed to her sash.

My eyes found the slab of wood that she had been painting and I stared for a moment in disbelief. It was exquisitely done in intricate patterns that were laced about the black wood, curling here and twisting there, all glowing in the sun. It was absolutely stunning.

"Like it, Norrington? I worked hard on it. It'd be on the boat by now but I'm just not tall enough to reach the top o' the stern." She said, making me jump. I spun around to meet a pair of smiling eyes under the shade of her hat. She had lifted it carelessly with her thumb, allowing her gaze to meet mine for that lone instant. Then, flipping her hat off onto the bundle of cloths, she stood, stretched, and yawned.

"You two took so bloody long that I had enough time to go get my affects from that blasted old shack you found me in." At this, she reached down and pulled a red jacket from the pile. The jacket was patched up here and there, and adorned with gold around the edges. On the inside, there was another layer of cloth, mostly lacy, like the inner lining of a lady's skirt. I shuddered to think where that came from. She buckled the jacket around the middle with a large brown belt with a brass buckle.

I reached for her hat at the same time she did, and our hands brushed lightly. I grabbed the hat and brushed off the dirt, watching her eyes stare curiously at my gesture. She looked a little annoyed that I had her hat, but it was subtle, hidden. I held the hat up to the light, letting the sun play off the green feather and the golden brown leather. After a moment, I placed the hat on the Captain's head, breaking into an uncontrollable grin.

"Captain, thank you for doing that. I must admit I never expected such a wonderful job from someone not trained in the art of calligraphy." I said. I saw her face light up, her eyes as bright as anything I had ever seen. Her face held innocence that one would never guess she had. I guess she had never been complimented on her work in a truly sincere manner.

"You're... You're welcome." She choked out, flushing a bright ruby red. I turned, hearing footsteps. The crowd I had invited had arrived. I saw Elizabeth's face among the throng and I felt my own face flush. I turned around to address the Captain and found she was gone, as was the champagne.

"Ladies and gentlemen, landlubbers and scallywags! Please turn your attention to the bowsprit!" No one knew where to look. "That's the little pole coming off the front of the boat, people!" After a moment, all eyes were turned to the bowsprit. The Captain stood atop the polished wood, looking for all the world like a decent merchant fellow and nothing like a pirate. "Thank you, my fine fellows and fellowisses. Today is a day for grand excitement! My good friend, the newly re-enlisted Commodore James Norrington, has earned himself a new boat and I think she needs a good sendin' off, am I right?"

I felt my face flush at the mention of my name. Her flattery earned several cheers and I was prodded to the front of the crowd, head hung low in embarrassment.

"So, we all know that this ceremony is currently unofficial as hell since Lord Beckett is not present, so—" She was cut off midsentence by a voice form the crowd. The first words were lost amid the hubbub of the people, but eventually the owner of the honey-sweet voice managed to muscle his way through the crowd. Or, at least, he had Mercer do the muscling for him.

"Whoever said I was not in attendance must have lied. I am merely late. Mercer and I were sharing a private drink in a toast to my favorite Commodore," His words were sincere and true, and they ran clearly through the crowd. He joined me at the front.

"Woo! Let's get this maelstrom a spinnin'! Go ahead, Lord-y." Her words were laced with slight hatred. She had not forgotten his misdeeds unto her, and she would never forgive him. Lord Beckett cleared his throat.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, let me say that this day is one I have looked forward to for quite a while. You all know what Commodore Norrington has done for us, so saying much for would be rather super... super-flu..." He said, struggling on the last word slightly.

"Superfluous." The Captain corrected, straddling the bowsprit and leaning down to watch.

"Thank you." Beckett grunted, annoyed. "So, without further adieu, I present the Commodore with his new ship. Commodore, what name have you decided upon?" He asked, turning to me. I turned to Gillette for only a moment, and he read in my eyes that I wished him to fetch the sign.

"The Cherished, m' lord. It was actually Captain Kat's idea, so all credit should go to her." I looked up at her with a smile. She grinned back.

"And do you have a sign for the stern yet?" Beckett asked, slight contempt in his voice. I nodded briskly, motioning Gillette forward. The sign glinted marvelously in the now setting sun, the gold matching the red sunset with beauty I had never seen.

"Such wonderful work. Who painted it?" Becket asked, looking up at me with curious eyes. I nodded toward the Captain, and the curiousness was replaced with anger. With an annoyed flick of his wrist, he motioned Mercer and Gillette back to place the sign upon the stern. I grinned, I could not help it. The Captain was humming something to herself, and both men were back within moments.

"So, that's it with the formalities then, eh?" The Captain asked. Becket gave her a curt nod. "Is there a piece of silver under the keel and a piece of gold under the mainmast?" Beckett shook his head. "Must fix that, then." Then she raised the bottle. She uncorked it, letting the foam rush out over the crowd, and after taking a swig, she offered it to me. I drank straight from the bottle, and handed it back. With a smile, she broke the bottle over the bow, spraying Beckett with champagne. The crowd laughed and cheered, and someone began passing bottles of rum and champagne around the crowd. I was suddenly swarmed with people shouting congratulations and good luck. I was patted and hugged by people I did not know, and I shook hands with so many I lost count. I could have sworn that someone grabbed my ass while in the fray but they weren't there when I turned around to snap at them.

"Commodore." I heard my name and turned to be face to face with the Captain. Her nose was inches from mine, only because she was standing on a box. "Do you happen to have a piece of silver and a piece of gold? I don't have anything on me save my piece of eight and that I cannot give away."

"Why do you need such money?" I asked, curious. I did happen to ave a piece of silver and a piece of gold on my person, but I was not going to give them away until I knew what they would be used for.

"It's good luck if you put a piece of silver under the keel and a piece of gold under the mainmast. It's not a good idea to set sail without them, believe you me. " Her voice had a serious edge to it. I handed over the money without a second thought and the Captain disappeared in the throng. After a moment I heard her voice behind me and turned.

"Well, Commodore, fancy a sail?" She repeated, as the crowd dispersed. I followed her onto the ship and caught up with her at the bow, Gillette at my heels. I heard the crew board, bustling about, readying the ship for launch. I left the bow, and Captain Kat, after a silent moment and went to guide the wheel. The winds were fair and calm, blowing exactly how we needed. The tide was soft, yet it began to carry the boat away as soon as we cleared the docks. I felt the wind from the ocean rush past the bow through my hair, and for once in my life I felt truly free.

From the bow came the end of a song, brushed along the wind. The voice was light, soft, and cheerful. It was beautiful.

"I am frolic some, and I am easy, good tempered and free, and I don't give a single penny boys what the world thinks of me!" The Captain sang, standing on the bowsprit, arms spread wide.

Finally, I understood her kind of freedom. And that understanding made me smile.


	6. Song

The Cherished

Chapter 6: Song  
Norrington's POV  
2200 Hours, Open Ocean, The Caribbean

It was nearing midnight when I finally left the wheel. It felt so good to be in command I had to pry myself from the wood. The Captain was nice enough to take the midnight watch, and was sitting exactly where I had seen her that morning.

"Captain!" I called, "Is there any reason why you opted to take the hours no one likes?" I asked, joining her. She was humming contently to herself and had taken no notice of my question. "Captain." I said into her ear. She started, almost falling overboard.

"Commodore, please, don't do that. I'm not as young as I once was. Me old heart just won't take it nowadays." She looked over at me with an exasperated smile, her breathing heavy. "And I did hear your question, I was just thinkin' over it." Her words took on a hint of something like annoyance. She then became silent, lost in thought.

"It's hard to explain, really. I just love being out during the ol' bewitchin' hour, as Gibbs calls it. It so quiet, so peaceful. It's easy just to get away from it all, to forget the things that normally trouble one's mind and focus on the beauty of it all. Like the look of the ocean when the moon reflects upon the surface, or how the waves and the wind make a subtle chorus of song that's so hard to notice during the day. Things just come alive at night, when everything's asleep and quiet." She said with a heavy sigh.

It became silent again, and after a moment, the wind and the waves became almost as one, creating a beautiful song of sadness and sorrow and lives lost at sea.

"Come ye young one, come ye fair one, come now unto me. Could you fancy a poor sailor lad who has just come from sea." The Captain's voice was soft, hesitant, almost scared to start. The song was the same tune of the one she had sung earlier. After a moment, she continued.

"You are ragged love, and you're dirty love, and your cloths smell much of tar. So be gone you saucy sailor lad, so be gone you Jack Tar. If I am ragged love, and I'm dirty love, and me cloths smell much of tar, I have silver in me pocket, love, and gold in great store. And then when she heard him say so on bended knee she fell. I will marry my dear Henry for I love a sailor lad so well." She paused, turning around to lean back on the bowsprit, staring at the starry sky.

"Do you think I am foolish love, do you think that I am mad? For to wed with a poor country girl when there are fortunes to be had. I will cross the briny oceans, I will whistle and sing, and since you have refused the offer, love, some other girl shall wear the ring. Oh I am frolic some and I am easy, good tempered and free, and I don't give a single penny, boys, what the world thinks of me!" She finished much louder than she had started, and I applauded her singing. She flushed.

"That song sounds like Captain Jack wrote it." I commented, after a moment. The Captain shrugged once, yawning.

"Actually, I think Captain Teague wrote it." When met with my look of utter confusion, she spoke again. "Teague's our dad. He coulda taught the song to Jack and Jack could have learned some of his strangeness from it."

"Captain, will you sing another one?" I asked. She flushed. "Or at least tell me of your adventures at sea. I bet they are wonderful stories." I said, watching her face flush even redder.

"You really wanna hear one? They really aren't that great." She said, turning away, her face red as a setting sun. I smiled, standing and sitting on the rail.

"Better than some of mine, surely. I live a 'life of leisure', remember? Yes, I may have come back from the dead but that was by your power, and that is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me." I asked, smiling. What I said as the truth; my life was not exciting at all.

"Well... I am currently the standing Pirate Lord of Madagascar and the successor-at-death of the Keeper of the Keys." She half-muttered. "Though you probably don't know what that is."

"Actually, I have heard of the Pirate Lords, but only in stories." I corrected, leaning back on the rail. "I have never understood their breed of politics, though. No democracy, no king, only nine groups of people fighting over ideas." I said with a half-shrug.

"Well, actually, there was a king for a while. There'd be a king more often ifin we'd have more people like Jack who'd vote for someone other than themselves. I'm very sure it was Mrs. Turner who was king, actually. Or... Queen. Or something. Doesn't matter, does it? And it's nine people representin' nine different sections of the oceans. And fightin' is a good kind of politics. Better than just boring ol' talkin' and moanin' and 'presentin' valid points' and whatnot." The Captain growled. She was being terribly defensive and for a moment I thought I might have offended her.

"Sorry, Commodore. Being a Pirate Lord is a hard job, especially when you gotta defend it with your life and all." She said, hopping off the bowsprit. She shrugged off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves, throwing her lost garment over the yardarm. She hopped back up to straddle the bowsprit backwards, facing me. The night was still and warm, with nary a breeze blowing through the sails.

"So, you want me to tell you a story, then, eh?" Captain Kat asked, after a long moment. I nodded eagerly, wanting something to help pass the long night away. She rolled up her sleeve a little more on the right, revealing a long scar running down the length of her arm to her wrist.

"Well, this thing I got from a drunken merchant sailor in Tortuga, 'bout two years ago. It was the semi-annual Faithful Ball, or whatever it's called. The Faithful Bride, a tavern in the heart of the town, holds a dance for couples every year it has the fund to. Two years ago was the last one so far. Ladies wear dresses and men wear fancy cloths. You go and dance and drink and laugh and it gets real fun. Last time I went, I went with Reef." Here she paused, glancing at the night sky for a moment.

"You know, you kinda look like Reef. Tall, dark-haired, pretty eyes... or in his case, eye." She giggled.

"Eye?" I asked, curious.

"Aye, eye." She said before bursting out in laughter. I laughed as well. "He had only one eye. He always wore this big black eye-patch and it was so cute!" Kat stopped, and flushed bright red.

"Anyways, last time I went I was young and impressionable, and ended up standing around by myself drinking. This one guy get's cut-in by Reef and get's real mad. I didn't know this, mind you. But this one guy just kinda sidles up to me at the bar and starts up a conversation. He was really quiet and didn't seem like any kinda threat. Well, then, Reef walks over and I suddenly find myself with a knife to my throat." She paused, touching her neck lightly in thought.

"So, what did you do?" I asked. I wanted to know more of the story. Kat, on the other hand, seemed reluctant to continue.

"It's... nothing. I don't wanna talk about it no more. I can't think about Reef..." She stopped. I put my arm around her shoulders comfortingly, drawing her close.

"Oh Lord be with us when we sail upon the lonely deep. Our guard when on the silent deck, the midnight-watch we keep. And help us to remember all the times securely kept, when after the tempest the waves lay down and slept..." She sang, leaning her head into my chest. My grip on her tightened slightly, pulling her into a hug.

It seemed like hours passed before she stirred again. She straightened, sniffled, and stretched.

"Commodore, I'm going on ta bed. Goodnigh'." She half yawned, walking off. I watched her go, feeling my face break into a soft smile. My mind drifted, thinking about the Captain. I watched the boatswain stagger out for his watch and stood, walking back to my own bed in a dream-like trance. I was asleep before I hit the pillow 


	7. Chapter 6 point 5

The Cherished

Chapter 6.5

Captain Kat's POV

0300 Hours, Open Ocean, the Caribbean

I woke to screaming. I could discern the word 'pirates' in all the chaos and in an instant I was up and readying myself. I attached my two swords to my side and ran out onto the deck in nothing more than my shirt and pants, sliding in the rain. It came down in blinding sheets and almost obscured the bloodshed before me from my view.

'Almost' being the key word, of course.

Men were all around me - dying, screaming, swearing, and fighting – and the bodies were piling up around me. Be-wigged men fighting scruffy pirates, stabbing, slashing, killing them. It was gruesome, violent, and the stench of blood made my head spin.

I searched for a familiar face, something to which I could ground myself and who I was fighting with. The rain pounded down upon my back and head, beating a forlorn rhythm into my brain. I shrunk down low to evade the cold of both the rain and the steel swinging in large arcs above my head.

"Slow down, buddy! You could put an eye out with that thing!" I said, blocking the next blow with one of my own swords. My attacker was a brawny pirate, with a face not even his mother could love and eyes as hard as crystal. They regarded me in quiet, almost ape-like, curiosity, before his face melted into a state of confusion.

"You're a pirate." He stated, almost in disbelief. I nodded cheerily.

"Yes, I am. And you're going to be dead in a moment so it doesn't really matter." I said, backing up a step. His face was one I remembered from somewhere, a face long lost in my memories. I shrugged it off and ran for it, across the soaking wet deck with great haste. If it was true, and pirates were attacking the ship, then I had to find James before he killed himself out there.

It felt like ages before I found him. He was fighting for control of the wheel with the pirate's Captain. I ran over to join in the now hand-to-hand brawl, but I felt my heart jump to sit in my throat when I saw exactly who he was fighting.

The man was young and well built, not much older than meself, with shoulder length, reddish-gold hair, drawn into various braids and dreadlocks. He was sporting a bread of a darker red shade, all wiry and matted from lack of hygiene. He wore a simple shirt, faded black pants, a tattered gray sash and a large hat with a grey plume. I froze where I was when his grey eyes, alight with hate and anger, caught mine. His face, once alive and taught with hate, slackened.

"M-Mornin', Arthur..." I said, waving hello to the boy, now a full grown man, that I had left for dead with the Sirens. His eyes grew fiery once more and he reached down for his sword. Our blades clashed above my head; his bulky form towered above me.

"So, that's a 'no' on the whole talk-it-over dealie, eh?" I asked, holding his sword at bay as he swung it about. He let out an inhuman roar, and his face changed. His eyes turned the color of flame, and his beard and hair rippled about his face like fire. His open mouth dripped a substance that was red and thick like blood, but flowed like lava and shined gold. I started, gaping at him with frightened eyes. He swung his sword forward in a stab – right at me heart. I found my legs wouldn't move, so I closed my eyes tightly and waited for the painful death that was to come.

I waited for a good minute, but there was no pain. I opened one eye and found I was not in heaven. I was standing behind Norrington, who was rigid and stiff. I looked down and saw why – he had a sword through his gut. The sword dissolved before my eyes, as did the chaos around me. Norrington fell forward onto his knees and I helped him sit up against the wheel.

"Captain..." My name was nothing more than a whisper coming from him. Blood was flowing freely from his mouth, which was turned up in an almost ironic smile. "You are a good woman..." He started, but I shushed him before he could continiue.

"You aren't going to die so stop acting like you are. I'm going to find Gillette and when I do you'll be fine." I said, standing. I ran down the deck and stopped. Everyone that I had seen participating in the fighting were lying on the deck, dead. I saw Arthur's now non-flaming head among the bodies. My eyes searched for a living soul as I padded my way though them, closing their eyes when I could stand to touch them. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Gillette's face before me. His eyes were frozen in terror, his jaw broken, leaving his mouth hanging agape. I closed his eyes and fixed his jaw so that he looked a little more peaceful than when I'd found him. I turned to leave, but froze when I saw two familiar faces among the pirates.

One was the brutish pirate I had fought before, and beside him was another, dark skinned and light haired. Apart I would have never recognized them, but together their faces and their names invaded my mind and made it freeze. Both men had died when they were boys, along with Arthur Flame-face. I kneeled by the pale-white one, and closed his glassy eyes. His name was Mathew, and the other was Jonathan. I ran my hand through Johnny's bleached-blonde hair, watching their faces seemingly return to their youthful state in which I saw them last. After a moment longer of mourning properly, I left.

Norrington was right where I left him, alive and breathing. I sat down beside him with a heavy heart.

"Gillette's dead." I said solemnly. He didn't make a sound. "Everyone is. We're the last two alive."

"No, you're the last alive, Captain." He said, his hand reaching out to clasp mine. I watched as he took his last breathe, and as the lights faded from behind his eyes. I felt my shoulders begin to shake in sobs.

"No! NO!" I cried. "NOT AGAIN!" I started crying out of pure terror. Suddenly, I felt hands grip my shoulders with astonishing strength, and they lifted me off the ground. I was facing Arthur again, who was completely on fire. His voice was like a snake hissing.

"You killed usssss... and for that you mussst die." He said, and suddenly I felt the hands begin to burn past my shirt. I screamed as I felt my skin sizzle, and my vision flickered between focused and out-of-focus. Arthur started walking towards me, form swaying and smoking. He took me into his arms, enveloping me in his fire, and I screamed again, louder than before. The fire liked at my face and burned through my shirt and I let out a dying scream once more before blacking out.


End file.
